


Let Us Be Lonely Together, You and I

by Lywinis



Series: When the Lights Go on Again (All over the World): A Post-Snap Capsicoul Collection [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Capsicoul - Freeform, I've missed writing this ship so I'm just doodling on things, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Endgame, also not AoS canon compliant, because that show is a dumpster fire, but they're discussing feelings and there are more of those than romance, canon has been roasted at 200 degrees and then carved for the juicy bits, don't mind me, i mean if you squint - Freeform, like it's gay af tbh and I think they're both good with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 17:57:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: Life goes on. Phil isn't sure why that is. Steve might provide an answer.





	Let Us Be Lonely Together, You and I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bearfeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearfeathers/gifts).

> 
>       
>     
>     
>         _Are you dead? sometimes I think I'm dead
>     Cause I can feel ghosts and ghouls wrapping my head
>     But I don't wanna fall asleep just yet
>     
>     --Cavetown, This is Home_
>       
>     
>     
>     

The collapse of SHIELD was akin to the heat death of the universe. Phil Coulson was of the opinion that it would have lasted forever – or he had been.

And then he’d died.

It was awkward, sometimes, sitting on the edge of his bed and staring down at both his hands. One of which was the same flesh and blood that had been with him all his life. The other was a technological marvel, wrought in science and biotech.

He still couldn’t feel it, even as he watched the fingers open and close. A lot of things felt like that nowadays. Sometimes, if he were still and quiet, and got some time to just be, it felt like he was existing just outside of his body, just a few inches to the left.

Phil watched the fingers open and close, open and close. If he listened, he could imagine he heard the whirring of the tiny mechanisms that made his hand so fluid. Open and close, open and close. Sometimes, he lost track of which hand the sounds came from, reality slivering off like ice on a puddle that had been stepped on.

He was brought back to himself with a trilling chirp from his phone. He reached for it, thumbing it open.

“Coulson,” he said. His voice sounded old, disused, as though he were surfacing from a long sleep. Maybe he was.

“You have a visitor, sir.” Bobbi said. She must have been passing by reception. They didn’t stand by much formality anymore, not now. They couldn’t afford the staffing, and they were so remote that they didn’t need it. “Shall I send him to your office?”

“Who is it?”

“He asked me not to say. But he’d like fifteen minutes of your time, and you’re free to dip if you don’t want anything longer than that.”

Phil’s brow furrowed, but he rose. “I’ll be out in ten. Have him wait in my office.”

He dressed down, jeans and a button up, the snaps hidden from the casual glance but easier to do up than fiddling with buttons these days. They practically did themselves up, and Phil shrugged on a jacket. Darker even than his suits, somber in its simplicity. He left the tie off.

More armor for the outside world, he thought, grimacing at his reflection. Scrubbing a hand over his face, not yet stubbly enough to shave. He had to do it twice, the first time was his left hand and—

Open and close.

He shook his head, stepping out of the sleeping quarters and into the little living area that was adjoined to his office. He threaded past the little kitchenette, the sofa that sat unused, the television gathering dust.

He was alive and well, and somehow, he still felt like a ghost.

He paused before the door that led to his office. It locked, keeping the job outside, and yet somehow it didn’t. It seeped through all the cracks, blackening them with the water that lapped just outside the door. It would drown him, if he let it.

Sometimes he wanted to let it.

He held his breath, listening, but he couldn’t hear whoever it was through the door. They must be waiting, but there wasn’t even a sigh out of breath, the shift of a chair.

Phil let out his breath, gripping the doorknob and pushing the door open.

Steve Rogers sat in his office.

He’d kept the beard, meticulously trimming it so that it was shaped well, but it was unmistakable who it was. His hair was darker, his eyes tired. Steve filled one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, seeming perfectly at home and simultaneously erroneous and out of place. The décor seemed to welcome him, like a set piece. Phil knew that it wasn’t fair to think of him like that. Instead, he cleared his throat.

“I heard you were going back.” It had been understandable, hearing the reasoning behind it. Going back to his own time. Shooting for a sliver of happiness. After everything that had happened, it was surely understandable. Grasp it while you had it.

Steve shifted then, and Phil heard the chair creak. So, he _was_ real. Good. Phil would have hated to have this conversation with himself again. He moved to his own leather chair, sitting down and folding his hands on the desk blotter. The super soldier didn’t answer for a long moment.

They stared at each other, hazel eyes gone the color of gunmetal meeting dark and stormy blue; the color of the ocean where they’d found him.

“No tie?” Steve asked instead.

Phil shrugged. Steve nodded, as though that had answered Phil’s question that wasn’t a question at all.

If he’d wanted to be blunt, it would have been _why are you still here_?

Blunt would have been best, perhaps. Push him from the office, and he could go back to doing what he was doing—gathering dust with the rest of his collection. Silence descended, muffled only by the ticking of the clock on Phil’s book shelf.

“I couldn’t go through with it,” he said, after a while.

“No?” Phil’s curiosity should have been piqued, but it was muted too. There was something there, of course. If he dug deep enough, he could feel it, pulsing beneath his breastbone.

“Seemed so…selfish. I spent so much time trying to move on. It would have been…to go back and change…everything. It was irresponsible,” Steve said, after a moment. He spread large hands, lifting his shoulders. “Peggy had a life without me. Doesn’t seem fair to steal that from her. She didn’t owe me anything.”

Phil nodded, listening. It seemed like Steve had done a fair bit of soul searching while taking care of things.

“In the end, I couldn’t do it,” Steve said. “But…now I’m at a loss.”

“How so?” Phil asked.

“Well,” Steve said, cocking his head at Phil. “I’m retired. Officially, I mean. I handed off the shield to Sam a couple of days ago.”

Phil blinked at that. Sam Wilson? He could see it, honestly. “Seems like a good fit. Not Bucky?”

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I think he needs time without living in my shadow. He’s my best friend, but there’s a lot…there’s just a lot.”

Perhaps not eloquent, but Phil got it. Bucky Barnes was a man that had been broken apart and pieced back together, much like himself. In a lot of ways, Shuri had been much kinder than SHIELD had, not that he could fault them. Well, he could, and he had, and the thought just made him tired.

“So, what now?” Phil asked.

“I figured I’d learn how to be retired for real,” Steve said. “Go get a cabin, take some time. Fish, draw. Read.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out.”

“Mostly,” Steve said. He shifted again. “Would you like to come with me?”

Phil froze. For a moment, there was a buzzing in his ear; the whirr of nanomachinery—no, his heart beat. Was it both? Neither?

Steve swallowed, glancing down. “You don’t have to.”

“I—” Phil shook his head to clear it. “Why me?”

“Seemed like you could use the same kind of break.” Steve craned his neck, looking around them. “You haven’t left the office in a while.”

“Not retired yet.” Phil offered him a flat smile. One of the Agent smiles, when he wanted to change the subject but without seeming like an asshole about it.

“It wouldn’t be forever,” Steve said. “Couple months.”

“Vacation?” Phil asked.

“If you want it to be.”

“Thank you for the offer, Captain—”

“Steve,” he said. Quietly, almost flinching. “I’m not Captain anything. Not anymore. I stole the title, too.”

“Steve,” Phil amended. His tone softened, and Steve looked up. “I can’t.”

“All right,” Steve said. “Worth a shot.”

“Why not ask Sharon?” Phil said.

Steve frowned, his mouth working. “Well. She and Maria had plans.”

Oh. _Oh._

“I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to realize,” Steve said. He gave a wry chuckle, the noise dusty in the office around them. “Not her fault, either. It wouldn’t have been fair to make her wait—and I’d been wrestling with…everything too much. It was too. Tangled.”

Phil nodded. “I can see how it might be.”

“I thought I’d ask, just to see if you might—”

Phil’s ears buzzed again. Open, close. Open, close.

Steve was talking, but he couldn’t really focus on him. Phil flexed his hands on his knees, one unfeeling, the other too much. Then neither feeling anything at all. White noise enveloped him.

Open, close.

“Phil?”

Steve’s voice cut through the buzz at last, and Phil looked up. There was a warm hand against his jaw, and his eyes finally focused on Steve, leaning his hip on the desk, leaning over him.

“I lost you for a second there,” Steve said.

“Happens,” Phil said, feeling sluggish. Slow and stupid.

“How often?” Steve asked.

“When I’m alone.” Phil shrugged. “I’ll deal with it.”

“You don’t have to deal with it by yourself,” Steve said. Phil found himself pulled toward the warmth of Steve’s hand, the way the long and clever fingers traced his cheek, curling against his skin. He leaned into Steve’s touch.

“No one else’s problem.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve said.

“You’re warm,” he blurted. Steve’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t withdraw. Phil turned his cheek into the palm of Steve’s hand, closing his eyes. “Feels real.”

“It is real,” Steve said. “I think you should reconsider coming with me. When was the last time you took a break?”

“I don’t need—”

“_Please_.” It wasn’t wheedling, but it was curiously like Steve needed this as much as he said Phil did.

Phil sighed. “Vacation?”

“Just for a little while. I’m sure I can convince them to give you leave.”

“I’ve got so much banked, they’ll give it to me.” Phil opened his eyes, staring up at Steve. “Why me?”

“You understand,” Steve said, shrugging. “About a lot of things.”

Phil considered that. They’d told him that his resurrection would mean that he aged much slower than the average human now. He and Steve would be about even in that regard. It was…comforting, he realized. Both for him, and for Steve, it seemed.

They did have a lot in common.

“I’d like you to come with me.” It wasn’t pleading. It was a statement, raw and ugly and yet not, placed in his hands and left there for him to do as he wished. He should deny it again, play his part as Peter, walk away.

He found he couldn’t summon the words.

Phil didn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve didn’t withdraw his hand, his thumb stroking Phil’s skin. The sensation grounded him, to the point where he noticed they were closer than he thought. Steve smelled of a woody scent, subtle and masculine, coloring the air near Phil with something else that was new to draw his attention. Steve gazed down at him, eyes clear and focused, and for the first time in a long time, he felt focused too.

“Okay,” Phil said.

“Okay,” Steve replied, the corners of his mouth curving upward. Phil caught Steve’s hand in his left as he started to back off, pressing his cheek against it one last moment.

“It’s selfish of me to do this,” Phil said, his breath feathering against the pulse that beat at Steve’s wrist. Maybe that was the buzzing he heard, watching the beat speed as Steve sucked in a breath.

“It’s selfish of me, too.” Steve’s voice was hoarse, as though coming from someone else.

“Then we’re selfish together,” Phil said. He released Steve’s hand at last, and the sensation of it pulling away made him shiver. “I can live with it, for a bit.”

“Me, too,” Steve said.

It was just a break. Just taking some time away. It was a breather, time to relearn who he was, to fit into his skin again.

If that made him a selfish man, then so be it.

“I’ll put in the request.”

Steve smiled in earnest then, and Phil found himself doing the same.

Life went on. It must.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing a lot of Marvel stuff lately, and while I didn't like the ending to Endgame, I'm not gonna preach about it here. You can consider this a what if, if it bothers you that much. I found myself missing Capsicoul, and bearfeathers and I agreed that its one of those comfort ships for the both of us.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
